Unintended Consequences
by Cymrugal
Summary: After realizing he has more than professional feelings for his Deputy, Albus wonders about the parts of her past Minerva has never spoken of. He learns his actions years earlier had many unintended consequences.
1. Things Known

A/N:

_This was originally started as a sequel to my _Sudden Storm _one-shot. But I don't want folks to consider it __the sequel. It's not that great and certainly in a different mood and vein than _Sudden Storm_. I may write a proper sequel to _Sudden Storm _some day, but this is not it._

_Basically I started musing on the idea that at the end of _Sudden Storm_ Minerva seems anxious to not let Albus block her exit from the room, and I began to wonder why that might be. Was there more to it than she wasn't yet ready to admit her feelings, or acknowledge his, which is all I had in mind when I started writing? She seemed to really want to get out of that space in a hurry. So I began to muse on what sort of backstory might give her that reaction. This is what emerged in essentially an extended (very extended!) free-write._

_It was not plotted out in advance and is not what I'd consider Exceeds Expectations-level work. I've done minimal editing/revising on it, mainly to break it into sections and correct glaring typos. It's also certainly not the backstory that I feel Minerva actually had. Essentially I view it as a bunch of warm-up scrawl in a composition book. But it was an interesting exercise that led places I hadn't fully anticipated, and consumed a full weekend day, so I'm posting it._

_The one interesting thing it did yield which I think might be worth further thought is Albus's looking back over his own sins of omission circa 1943-1944: when the Chamber was opened the first time and Myrtle was killed. It's ADMM fanon that he was constantly darting off to the Continent help fight Grindelwald while still teaching. He clearly was distracted enough by __something that he didn't keep enough of an eye on the young Tom Riddle, and wasn't able to prevent Myrtle's death or Hagrid's framing—that much is clear in canon. It stands to reason he might have missed other things too. In this story he did, and they cost someone close to him a great deal. Fortunately she's more able to forgive than he has any right to expect._

**Warning: deals with strongly implied child sexual and physical abuse, murder, and PTSD. **

* * *

**Chapter 1: Things Known**

Albus Dumbledore had been scrupulously careful over the past week since the thunderstorm to treat his Deputy with the utmost professional decorum. He strove to act as if nothing untoward had happened in his office, and he hoped that in her view, nothing really had. After all, it had just been a moment or two in which his eyes had perhaps betrayed him.

She had been most determined to leave his office quickly, and had almost seemed as if she felt trapped and a little frightened. But she had also been embarrassed by what she considered her foolishness in not noticing the storm, and the storm itself had been frightening. Hopefully that was the reason for her unease and her desire to escape his office so quickly. In their handful of conversations since, she had behaved towards him as she usually did—perhaps not at her most relaxed, but there was no sign of her being angry with him, either. And as the days had passed, she did seem to regain more ease with him

However, even though their daily interactions did not seem to have suffered, something had changed in Albus. He could no longer deny that he was attracted to his Deputy. There were scores of other witches whom he could have encountered in a similarly sodden, indiscreet state and he would not have reacted as he had to Minerva. He needed to decide how to proceed. Was there any hope that she might eventually welcome such feelings on his part, if they were revealed in a more appropriate manner? Or should he simply increase his occlumency exercises and remind himself of his age, his station, and what sorts of relationships were and were not appropriate to pursue?

As he pondered his newly-admitted feelings for his newest faculty member and Deputy, he realized, with a bit of a start, that he knew little about her life outside Hogwarts, either now or when she was a student.

Albus pulled the old student file from the charmed archives cabinet and thumbed through it. "McGonagall, Minerva." It was relatively thin, and in good condition. She had been Gryffindor Prefect and then Head Girl, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and had the best academic record of anyone in her class (anyone in her decade, actually, save Tom Riddle), and had won several awards in Transfiguration and Charms. Her first position after finishing Hogwarts had been with the Department of Magical Research at the Ministry. The slender file held no disciplinary reports and few reports from the school nurse, and had rarely needed to be consulted during her student years.

None of this information was what Albus sought, anyway. He had been Deputy Headmaster, her Transfiguration Professor and her Head of House. He was familiar enough with her formal record. Almost all the documents in her file, save the ones from the nurse, bore his signature or name on them somewhere, in fact.

He chided himself. She had been his house Prefect for two years, his best student, a bit of a protégé, and yet as her Head of House he had made virtually no inquiries into her personal life. In the years since his defeat of Grindelwald, he had come to appreciate that his duties outside Hogwarts during the war years had distracted him from his teaching and House duties much more than he had realized at the time. He had done what was required of him in the classroom, and done it well, thanks to years of experience. He had been fortunate to have had, by Gryffindor standards, a relatively placid and serious group of cubs to oversee in the Tower, and he had also had strong Prefects, including Minerva. He could trust them to handle all minor matters and to use good judgment in what more serious things they referred to him or, in his all-too-frequent absences, other faculty members.

The most glaring example of his neglect in those years was Tom Riddle. If he had been more focused on his day to day responsibilities at the school, and less so on his clandestine work for and alongside the Ministry, perhaps he could have done something to change the boy's path. Perhaps the whole Chamber incident, including Myrtle's death and Hagrid's punishment, could have been avoided if only he had been a more diligent Deputy Headmaster. He had, after all, realized the boy was extremely troubled from their very first encounter. His neglect of Tom Riddle was one of his greatest regrets from that period, and he feared he and others might yet pay a price for it.

At least his neglect of Minerva was more understandable. She was the sort of student who was a joy to teach, and no trouble as a House resident. During her sixth year she had come to him monthly for an extra tutorial in Transfiguration, at least until the Chamber had been opened and all extracurricular activities ceased. They had resumed the tutorials her seventh year, after she had revealed her _animagus _transformation to him, but they had been sporadic, as his war work had kept Dumbledore away from the castle more than he was present.

In retrospect, he should have realized his neglect of her when she had come to him to show him her achievement of the _animagus_ transformation. She was his best student, took extra lessons from him, and yet he had had absolutely no idea she was attempting to become an _animagus_. She had simply demonstrated her achievement to him one October afternoon. At the time he had excused himself from any blame, rationalizing that Minerva was fiercely independent and extremely gifted, and that it was understandable she had not told him of her project. Foolish, but understandable. In fact, given the possibility of extreme physical injury or magical damage when attempting the transformation without careful guidance, it was actually by far the most foolhardy, Gryffindorish, thing he'd known her to do in all her seven years, but understandable given her independence. So he had told himself at the time, anyway.

But now, thinking back on it, he realized it was more accurately an indictment of his own state of distraction and exhaustion, both emotional and physical, during those final years of the war. If he had truly been the available, approachable, conscientious professor and Head of House he had imagined himself to be, Miss McGonagall would have come to him for advice and assistance as soon as she had formed the notion of becoming an _animagus_. But instead, knowing how busy he was, and how much he relied on her even then as a Prefect to lessen his workload, she had chosen to endanger herself rather than imposing on him. He popped a sour apple candy into his mouth and sucked on it fiercely.

He at least could console himself that after the war, after he had regained his strength and the press of media attention had died down, he genuinely had rededicated himself to his work at Hogwarts. For the past decade he had genuinely been the concerned, involved Professor and Head of House that he had always intended to be, and in fact had been until the outbreak of the war. He could not undo his past mistakes, but he could be careful not to repeat them. And in Minerva's case, he had taken special interest in her career at the Ministry, and they had worked together on several research projects over the past decade. She was the youngest Head of House and Deputy Headmistress in two centuries, but he knew that there was no one more qualified. Even though he had never admitted his early neglect of her to himself in so many words until now, on some level he had clearly been trying to make amends.

But he was still somewhat surprised to realize that even with their close working relationship, he knew virtually nothing of her personal life. She never spoke of it, and he had never inquired or probed. It had never seemed germane to their academic work, and he was not one to speculate on others' private lives without cause.

But now, he thought, he did have cause. If he was going to know how to proceed with his newly-admitted, but, if he were honest, not newly _felt_, attraction to his Deputy, he needed to know considerably more of her than he did. For all he knew she had a steady beau in London, or even Hogsmeade. In which case, of course, he would shove his feelings back down where they had come from and not act on them at all. Which was probably what he should do in any event, given their age difference and that she was his subordinate, but ….he still should know a bit more about his Deputy and closest colleague than he did, no matter.

He thought back to her days as a student. She had stayed at the Castle over many, though not all, holidays. His recollection was that her family was with the Diplomatic Corps, and it was not unusual for such students to remain over breaks. Especially during the war years, travel to wherever their families were stationed was often too risky, or at least too complicated, to be warranted for short breaks.

She had been a quiet, studious child, with a small group of close friends, a mix of Quidditch teammates and fellow "swots." Most of her friends were Gryffindors, but he had occasionally seen her studying with some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Besides her studies, her one passion was Quidditch, and she excelled as a Chaser, being not only one of the few witches to continue playing beyond her third year, but also being elected Team Captain her sixth and seventh years. Her determination to defeat Slytherin in Quidditch at any cost was already marked as a student. At the occasional school dances, he seemed to recall she was usually on the arm of a fellow Quidditch player, though not always the same one.

All of this was consistent with what he had observed with other children of diplomatic officers. The parents generally changed stations every three years, which meant the children were constantly uprooted and having to re-establish themselves with a new peer group. These children generally turned out one of two ways—either gregarious extroverts, able to immediately take control of a new situation and establish new friends easily, or quiet shy students who relied on one or two special hobbies or talents to enable them to fit in to their new setting, and found the stability of seven years' residence at Hogwarts to be a welcome relief. Minerva had obviously been the second sort.

He didn't recall her having any siblings, and nor did he remember either of her parents ever visiting the school. The latter, while it would have been quite remarkable in other eras, was not at all unusual during the war, especially not if one's parents were overseas.

And that, he had to admit, was essentially all he knew of Minerva McGonagall, besides her academic and professional achievements, with which he was very familiar. Once again he chided himself for his evident neglect.


	2. and Unknown

Chapter 2: and Unknown

Albus opened Minerva's student file again, to the first piece of parchment. He would start at the beginning, look at all he knew of her afresh, presuming no familiarity, and see what information he could glean.

* * *

_Note: Some information on this student's record has been redacted by the Ministry of Magic. If more information is needed, the Headmaster should complete form MM-DO-DS-134 and submit it to the Ministry Diplomatic Office. _

Student's Name: Minerva McGonagall

Date of Birth: October 4, 1925.

Father's name: redacted

House: Slytherin.

Magical heritage: Pureblood.

Father's occupation: Ministry, Diplomatic Office. Title: redacted

Home address: Care of Ministry Diplomatic Office, Edinburgh.

Permanent Residence: redacted Scotland

Mother's Name: Persephone McGonagall

House: none.

Magical Heritage: Mixed blood.

Mother's occupation: Formerly domestic service, presently homemaker. Note: 1942: volunteer with Magical Nursing Corps, London. Note: 1 July 1943: Deceased. Cause: magical accident.

Siblings: None.

Education prior to Hogwarts: At home.

In case of emergency contact: Ministry Diplomatic Office, Attn: Dependents' Office.

* * *

Albus re-read the parchment. Had he ever looked at it again after signing her Hogwarts' Letter in 1936?

It would seem not, for surely he would have remembered that her father was Slytherin, which he never would have guessed from knowing the daughter.

Minerva's Gryffindor pride and loyalty had always been fierce. Now that he thought back, he remembered that when the Sorting Hat had placed her in Gryffindor, almost instantly upon touching her head, she had jumped off the stool with a shout and thrown her fist aloft in triumph—an act which seemed incongruous coming from the slight, hesitant witch who had stayed near him as he led the first-years up from the lake. He had simply assumed she came from a long line of Gryffindor wizards. Her strong antipathy to all things Slytherin, a failing which she had confessed to him when he asked her to take the Deputy post, saying it was a weakness she was aware of and constantly worked to overcome (and which she did, at least in her outward dealings with the students), was all the more unusual if her father was a pureblood and Slytherin.

And how had he been ignorant of her mother's death in 1943? That was absolutely inexcusable. One of his students had lost a parent while in his House, and he had no recollection of it at the time or later. One of his favorite students, no less. Early July 1943. She would have been at home for the summer break. He spent all that summer overseas himself, gathering intelligence on Grindelwald's forces and recruiting agents in France and Belgium. He would have received a notice of the death from the Ministry, since as her Head of House he was responsible for her during the school year, but it would have gone into an overflowing inbox. In fact during the war he had charmed his inbox to sort and route his mail during his longer absences, and such a notice would have probably been automagically rerouted to Dippet.

He was sure Dippet must have sent the appropriate condolence letter, probably even signed Albus's name to it, and put a copy in her file and in Albus' correspondence file. Yes, here was the copy. But somehow Dippet had neglected to mention it to him upon his return that September. However, as he had returned to the Castle only an hour before the Sorting Ceremony that year, and Dippet was completely furious with him, thinking he was about to start the year unexpectedly minus a senior Professor, Head of House and Deputy, the oversight was understandable.

Still, it was truly inexcusable that he had been unaware that one of his senior female students, the Head Girl, had lost her mother over the summer. Dippet had threatened to fire him that September 1st, as he returned to the Castle so late, still in Muggle attire. He probably should have. Clearly Albus had not been fulfilling even the bare minimum of his responsibilities to his students or the school.

If Minerva had lost her mother unexpectedly at the start of that summer break, that did shed additional light on her solo _animagus_ achievement. Perhaps her way of dealing with her grief was to plunge herself into her studies, to escape into her mind and magic. And no wonder she had not approached him about her project. Her mother had died, and her private tutor and Head of House had merely acknowledged it with what was clearly an impersonal form letter with a charmed signature. He winced sharply at that, even fifteen years later. He was surprised she had even spoken to him at all that autumn. Now he had a nearly-overwhelming urge to find her in her rooms and apologize profusely for his dreadful carelessness so long ago. But his rational self knew that such an apology would only open old wounds, not heal them. Somehow she had managed to forgive him at the time, and he should simply be thankful for that.

Her mother had died tragically. What, if anything, could he recall about Minerva's relationship with her? He was ashamed to admit, 'nothing.' He could not remember Minerva ever mentioning her. What the file indicated was intriguing to say the least. Her mother had not attended Hogwarts, but that was not unusual for a mixed-blood witch of her generation. Especially one who was evidently of a working class background, judging by her initial occupation of "domestic service." What was unusual was that she had married a pureblood Slytherin diplomat and had evidently come up in the world from backstairs girl to diplomatic wife able to devote herself to good works and motherhood.

There was surely an interesting tale there, and Minerva's mother was clearly an exceptional witch. One who had died when her daughter was not yet 18. Of legal age, but still in school, not married nor engaged to be so, her father, probably absent for large chunks of her childhood, overseas in the middle of a war, evidently doing covert work. Minerva had signed on with the Ministry eagerly during her final term, not waiting for other job offers or attempting to find an apprenticeship as he advised, and now he understood why. She needed something sure in her life.

No wonder Albus knew little of her family. Except for her father she had none, and no matter how close father and daughter might be, clearly her father's daily life was not something that could be talked about freely. Were they close? Minerva's attitude towards Slytherin made him wonder about exactly what her view of her father was. But that was not conclusive. Perhaps his family included some of the less noble sort of that House, and it was their nature, not his, which repelled Minerva. But still, it was intriguing.

He flipped through the rest of her file. No more surprises from the bulk of the parchments, which recounted her academic and athletic exploits. He hesitated before unbundling her medical records….he was now truly trespassing where he had no real right to be. But he was curious to see if either her _animagus_ studies, or her reaction to her mother's death, had led to any medical concerns. He found nothing of interest—a few broken bones from Quidditch games, the occasional cold or flu. A prescription for contraceptive potions her sixth year. Perhaps her social life had been more interesting than he'd noticed amidst his distraction, although he knew there were other reasons young witches might be prescribed such potions. Follow-up treatment for some injuries sustained in a pick-up Quidditch game at home over the summer before her seventh year. An indication that the matron had preformed her pre-employment physical on behalf of the Ministry as a convenience, but no record of its results, since she was of age and it wasn't Hogwarts business. No sign of any magical accidents, nor of any emotional crises during or after the summer of 1943, which had been his main concern. At least she had not injured herself or sunk into a depression while he was so oblivious to her needs.

He replaced the student file in the cabinet and turned to extract her personnel file. This one took very little time to review and gave him almost no new information. He did note that under "Emergency Contact" she simply listed Poppy Pomphrey, the new Hogwarts matron. He smiled to himself--so she must not have a fiancé or secret husband, at least. This was some small bit of good news! It also meant that either she was not close to her father, he was deceased, or his work still made him difficult to reach, and that she had no other family. He had not thought that she and Poppy were particularly close friends, so she was probably listed simply in her professional capacity.

He considered further what this meant for Minerva. She was truly on her own, without family or surrogate family. A small circle of friends and colleagues seemed to be her only support. All the more reason for him, as her boss, long-time mentor, and, he hoped, friend of sorts, to not endanger their friendship by making unwelcome romantic advances.

Even if he put aside his attraction to her, as he intended to do, he was now genuinely intrigued by her background. He wrote a quick letter to a long-time friend in the Ministry, a wizard who worked in the most secretive of offices in the Diplomatic Service, encrypted and charmed it, and sent it off by eagle owl.

Speaking of the Diplomatic Service, now it was time to turn his attention to the prestigious international conference Hogwarts would be hosting in three months. It was to focus on the history of diplomatic and covert operations during the war and the new approaches called for by new times. Hogwarts was hosting because of Albus's prominent role, though unpublicized at the time, in many of those operations. He had asked Minerva to do much of the remaining substantive preparation for it, figuring the topic would be of some interest to her. She had seemed a bit more hesitant than he expected, but he reiterated his supreme confidence in her, and she agreed. He was glad of that now. After her insecurity about the thunderstorm incident, it would further reassure her that he viewed her as a competent and reliable professional whom he trusted to act on his behalf on a very important project without any oversight. And he was to present a major paper and chair two panels at the conference, and her assistance would be crucial in allowing him to concentrate on those items.


	3. Opening Moves

Chapter 3: Opening Moves

Over the remainder of the summer break Albus sought ways to get to know Minerva better as a friend, not just a colleague. Even if he had no intention of acting on his deeper feelings towards her, they had known each other long enough, and worked closely enough together that it seemed only right they should become genuine friends. Especially since he now appreciated how isolated she was, with no family, and now hundreds of miles away from whatever friends she had made in London.

The castle was still nearly deserted, and so one day he suggested that they take a walk into Hogsmeade for lunch, to give the house elves a break whether they asked for one or not. Conversation flowed easily over their pickle sandwiches and lemonade. They discussed her work at the Ministry before she had resigned to accept the Hogwarts position, and compared notes on mutual acquaintances. Minerva had taken a week's holiday in London earlier in the summer, and she told him of the shows she had seen. Before returning to the castle they stopped in one of the bookshops, and Albus noticed Minerva browsing in the chess section, a piece of information he filed away. Of course they also spent several minutes in Honeydukes, where Albus picked out an assortment of his favourite (at that moment) items. He might have been imagining it, but it seemed like Minerva was paying close attention to his selections.

Before a meeting they had scheduled for his office the next day, he set up his chess board casually by the fireplace, recreating a game that he had begun the night before.

At the end of their discussion of the Ministry's latest revisions to the OWL curriculum, Mineva nodded to the chess set. "You play?"

"Yes."

"Who's your opponent?"

"Sometimes Filius, but the board, usually. It helps me unwind when I've been too caught up in some problem."

She walked over to the board and studied it.

"You are white here?"

"Yes. I was doing pretty well, I was trying out a new opening move, but as you can see then I got into a bit of trouble, so I decided to come back to it later."

"Mmmm. May I?," she asked, her hand hovering over his pieces.

"Of course." He stood beside her

She swiftly made a move that had not occurred to him. The black pieces grumbled as they responded and Minerva smiled. She studied the board carefully, then said "Check" as she moved another of Albus's pieces. The black pieces lamented again.

"Very well done, Minerva! I think you've got them on the run."

"I imagine you can finish it off from here."

"I think I can, indeed. But I stared at that board for twenty minutes last night and didn't see that move. Say, would you be up for a game every now and then? I had no idea you played."

"I haven't had many opportunities since I came here, and I don't like playing against the board that much."

"Well, I can at least provide you a human opponent. And a cup of tea."

"I'd like that. How about tomorrow after the Governor's meeting?"

"Wednesday evening, then."

They had reasons to meet together almost daily, whether for planning for the school year, or doing research on a transfiguration problem they were both working on. Soon they had fallen into a rhythm of doing something recreational together for a few minutes after their meetings, whether a walk into Hogsmeade or around the lake, or a game of chess, or simply taking lunch together in the staff room rather than alone in their offices. Albus said, quite sincerely, that with the castle being so empty, it was important that they at least have some interaction, lest they go stir crazy. With the upcoming school year, and the diplomatic conference in late November, they both had plenty of work to get done, but there was no reason why they couldn't enjoy themselves a bit as well, since it was their vacation period.

Albus was careful to always link their casual activities to something work related, and that seemed to be sufficient to allay any doubts Minerva (or he) might have had about his full intentions. He was genuinely glad that they were establishing what seemed to be a genuine friendship which went beyond academic shop talk. And occasionally she would rest her hand on his arm, or take his hand in hers. Perhaps she did have more fondness for him than he had felt reason to hope for when she had fled his office in August.

They had at least one meeting per week about the conference, but it wasn't until the school year had begun that Albus began to notice a pattern. Whenever they met about the conference, Minerva seemed uncharacteristically nervous and somewhat uneasy. Instead of meeting in his office, she insisted they meet in her classroom, or in the staff room, always during the day, and with the door open. She would always decline any invitations for chess or a walk or a cup of tea after those meetings, though she accepted most of his other invitations. Her body language was much more restrained and professional than usual. He noted the pattern, but did not know exactly how to respond.


	4. Lacunae

Chapter 4: Lacunae

The Diplomatic Post owl flew away and Albus passed his wand over the parchment. It was as heavily encrypted as any he'd received during the war, and it took him several minutes to remove the various spells and wards from his friend's letter.

* * *

_Dear Albus,_

_It was good to hear from you, old friend. Hopefully the next time you get down to London we can find time for a cup of tea together, at least._

_I have made the inquiries you requested, and have found some interesting information. Persephone McGonagall died on 1 July 1943 by severe splinching when apparating to her home in the Scottish Highlands after an unknown errand. She left behind a daughter, Minerva, who would have been one of your students at Hogwarts at the time, and a husband. _

_The husband was evidently in the covert operations department of the Diplomatic Service. I cannot, even at 15 years' distance, discover his name, though I think it's a safe guess it is not McGonagall, which appears to have been Persephone's maiden name. The records are still heavily redacted, and it is only my extensive familiarity with such records which allows me to infer that he was indeed some sort of covert operative at the time. That they are still redacted leads me to believe he remains in the same line of work. _

_Another interesting thing is that the witch died by splinching. She was a volunteer nurse at a rehabilitation clinic in London, which specialized in helping wizards and witches wounded in the war who needed longer-term rehabilitation than Mungos then had capacity for. She apparated daily from the Highlands to London. She was, by all accounts, extremely magically talented and powerful, very practical, and lived a conservative life—in short, she was the least likely candidate to die of splinching you can imagine. _

_Even discovering this much about her, however, took some concerted doing. The number of lacunae in the records surrounding her death and her family is really quite amazing. In other words, there was much more going on in this story than has ever been made public, and people very high-up want it to remain that way even now. I could press and possibly discover more information, but it would come at substantial risk to myself and my career. Of course, since it's you that's asking, I would be willing to do so if it were truly necessary, but I would want to speak with you personally before proceeding._

_I did make the connexion that the daughter Minerva is now your Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor. I do not know if her appointment is what prompted your inquiry. However, nothing I found leads me to think there is any connexion at all between whatever irregularities surround her parents and Professor McGonagall, and I do not believe you or the school are at any risk by having her on your staff. _

_I hope this information, as incomplete as it is, has still been helpful. I do hope we can visit the next time you find yourself with a free hour in London. It has been too long. If not in London, at the very least I look forward to seeing you at the conference in November. _

_Warmest regards,_

_Oswald_

* * *

Hmm…..so there was something extremely odd about Minerva's mother's death, that someone connected to her father had wanted to keep secret, and still did. And her father was apparently under very deep cover and had been for years. Albus was, given his nature, curious to learn more, but had no reason to, certainly not when it would put his friend and source at risk. But this did explain, perhaps, why Minerva did not speak of her parents, or of her mother's death. Either she literally could not, due to enforced secrecy or her own lack of knowledge, or it was painful and fraught enough that she did not want to. Albus used his wand to burn the parchment into fine ash which he then banished.

One day while they discussed the latest revision to the speakers' schedule for the diplomatic history conference her discomfort was so obvious Albus could not pretend to ignore it. "Minerva, what is wrong? You seem very upset about something."

"No, I'm fine. Let's continue."

"Minerva, you are clearly _not_ fine. Of course you don't have to tell me what is wrong, but please don't ask me to believe you are fine. I'd rather not continue today—you're distracted and obviously uncomfortable. Would it be better if we met at some other time?"

"No. It's not the time. It's…it's …...just give me a few minutes to re-focus, then we can go on."

"Is it something about the conference, then? You've seemed more and more nervous at each meeting we've had."

She looked away from him.

"Minerva, please. Tell me what it is. If it's something about the conference, we can change it. Together."

She took a deep breath and looked at the table between them. "It's just….well, you may not know, but my father was in the Diplomatic Service when I was growing up."

"Yes. I do remember that."

"And, well, it's complicated, and I can't really talk about it, but let's just say that as a result not all of my associations with the Diplomatic Service are positive. And working on this conference makes me have to think about people and events I haven't thought about for years."

"Oh. I see. Well, I mean, clearly I don't see, but I know there are some things from those years I wouldn't want to be reminded of either. I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I should have asked how you felt about this project before assuming you'd enjoy doing it. That was exceedingly foolish of me. Those years were hard on all of us in different ways, and you were still young, and your family….. yes….I hadn't thought about it that way when I first asked you to take this on, but...now that you explain, it's obvious. I shan't ask you to keep going. Let me see where things stand, and I can take it back. I'm very sorry."

"No, Albus, I'm not going to let you down. I said I'd do this, and I will. It's been fifteen years, and there's no reason I can't cope with this. It's just been a bit harder than I expected, and that's taken me a bit by surprise. But now that I've told you about it, at least this little bit, it doesn't seem as awful. Really, I'll be fine."

"If you insist. But if there are specific parts of it, or people, you'd rather I dealt with, or if you find that telling me about it helps, please…..Remember, I worked with some of these people too, and I still have a Top Secret clearance level, even higher on some matters. If there's something you need to talk about, want to talk about, I'd like to think I could listen."

"Alright. But I'll be fine."

"Minerva, listen to me, please, there's something I need to say. I know I wasn't as available to you when you were a student as I should have been. When I realized just how distracted from my students I'd been during the war, especially from those of you who suffered losses and deserved so much more from your Head of House, I felt awful. I haven't had a chance to apologize to you, and you were one of the ones I neglected most shamefully, because I didn't want to bring up difficult memories. But I am truly sorry. I don't know that I can make up for it fifteen years later, but if there's anything I can do, now, please….."

"Thank you." Tears had suddenly welled up in her eyes, seemingly as much to her surprise as his. He quickly offered a handkerchief.

"Thank you Albus. Your saying that means a lot. More than you can know. And maybe you're right, we should call it quits for today." She smiled through her tears and stood up.

"But now that we've discussed this, now that you know, I'll be fine. I just need to focus on the conference, not the memories, and get through it. Be a Gryffindor. It will be good for me in the long term."

He stood as well. "Only if you're sure, Minerva. But remember, my door is always open. Always." It was all he could do to not take her in his arms, but something told him that was not what she needed.

"I know. How about we come back to today's material Thursday after my last class?"

"Thursday, then." He reached out and gave her shoulder a swift encouraging squeeze, dropping his hand quickly. She smiled weakly and left the classroom.

While Minerva was clearly still somewhat nervous whenever they met about the conference, she did seem more composed about it than she had been. Perhaps just telling him about her difficulties had made enough of a difference. Now that classes were fully underway, they did not have as many opportunities to socialize as they had, but they did still play chess at least weekly, and their friendship continued to grow.

Albus told her of some of his brother's exploits when they had been teenagers, and of his own occasional mishaps in experimental magic as a young man. Minerva did not talk much about her own childhood, but he did learn she had grown up on a fairly large estate in the Highlands, and had spent a lot of time outside playing with the servants' children, several of whom were boys, which is how she came to excel at Quidditch despite being an only child and a girl. He presumed it was her father's family's estate, but she did not say. He did not ask her any questions about her parents, and she did not volunteer any information.


	5. Breaking Cover

Chapter 5: Breaking Cover

Soon the conference was just a few days away. Minerva and Albus were meeting on a Monday to finalize the last details when a large Ministry owl with a diplomatic pouch flew into the room and landed on Minerva's arm. She took the contents of the pouch and began to the sheaf of papers with interest. Suddenly she crumpled the parchment she was holding in her fist.

"Minerva, what is it?" Albus gently took the rumpled sheet from her trembling hand. She did not speak as he read, and mused aloud.

"My, this is quite a coup, or at least some people who were not closely involved may say so. It will require re-working the speakers' schedules, and adding a panel, but I think we can do it if we have to. As far as I know, "Rapier" has never spoken of what he did in the war. I thought he was still under cover, doing…well, not being public, and not exactly selling Victory bonds, shall we say? I certainly didn't invite him, and I don't think anyone at the Ministry did. There are some things that are best left buried. He produced a lot of intelligence, especially early on, but at great cost. And the information he gathered was of declining accuracy as his methods became more brutal. I wonder why he's suddenly decided to go public, and at this event?"

Having finished reading, he looked up. Minerva was white as a sheet, edging towards green, and was clasping her hand over her mouth. She suddenly stood, ran to her office and its adjoining loo, and slammed the door closed behind her. Albus heard the sound of dry retching, and then a gentle thud as if Minerva had slumped onto the floor.

Albus rapped at the door, which was sealed tightly with a strong _Colloportus_. "Minerva, are you alright? Minerva? Minerva!" When she didn't answer, he whispered his Headmaster's password and gently pushed the door open. Minerva was wedged between the commode and the far wall, sweating and trembling.

"Leave me alone. Get out!"

"Minerva, it's all right." Albus was baffled at her reaction to him. He took another step towards her. "Let me help you."

"Get out, I said! Get out! Why won't you just leave me alone for once?!"

"Minerva…" Albus began to back away, slowly, still at a loss as to what had his Deputy in near-hysterics.

Suddenly she brandished her wand at him, screaming now, "Get away from me, you monster! You won't hurt me ever again!"

Albus quickly retreated and shut the door between them. He heard another _Colloportus _squelch against the frame. He ran to the fireplace and tossed a handful of floo powder into the grate. "Hospital Wing! Poppy, I need you here right now. It's Minerva. Something's very wrong."

Poppy arrived in a rush of green flame. "Where is she?"

"Locked in the bathroom, collapsed against the wall. I tried to help her, but she screamed at me to leave her alone, and when she drew her wand on me is when I called you."

"Drew her _wand_ on you?"

"Yes. She was nearly hysterical, it's as if she didn't recognize me."

Poppy walked to the door. "Please remove the spell, Headmaster. I can cast diagnostics through the door, but not if it's sealed."

Albus waved his wand, removing the _Colloportus_ in a way Minerva was less likely to detect, and nodded at Poppy, who then cast several elaborate spells.

"Well, physically, she's not in any immediate danger, and she's conscious. It's as if she suffered a very massive and sudden panic attack. It's beginning to ebb a bit now, I think. I'd like to get some potions into her, and then get her to the Hospital Wing for observation, but I don't want to make it worse by going in there until I have more of an idea of what triggered it."

Poppy pulled Minerva's file out of her bag. "Nothing in her file indicates a problem with panic attacks. Can you tell me what you were doing right before it hit?"

"We were having a planning meeting about the conference, and then she received an owl from the Diplomatic Office. She read the first page, and crumpled it up. I took it to read, and by the time I was done reading the page, she was turning green and she bolted for the loo. I went in after a few moments, because she wouldn't answer me, and it sounded like she'd collapsed, and that's when she screamed at me, told me to leave her alone, get out, and so on. Called me a monster, in fact, just as she drew her wand."

"A monster? What was the letter about?"

"A new addition to the speaker's roster. A covert operative, very covert, at least til now, who's suddenly decided to attend the conference and give a talk. He wasn't even invited. In fact, he's a very nasty piece of work—I knew him in the war, and while he knows things no one else knows about our intelligence operations in those days, frankly I wouldn't want to work with him again if I had a choice."

"Does Minerva know him?"

"I wouldn't have thought so—but her reaction would indicate otherwise."

"Yes. It sounds like mention of him triggered some memory of something in her past. Sort of a waking nightmare. Could that be?"

"I don't know, but it's certainly possible."

"I'm going to try to go in with her now—hopefully since I'm a woman she won't be as confused. Stay out of her line of sight but close by."

"Minerva, it's Poppy. The matron here at Hogwarts. Can I come in?" Hearing no answer, Poppy gingerly pushed open the door. Albus heard her talking softly to her patient and rustling in her medicine bag.

Several minutes later Poppy stepped out into the classroom. "She's through the worst of it now, and she knows where she is. I'll stay with her and in a little while she'll be able to walk to the Hospital Wing with me. I think it's best you go up to your office and leave her to me. I'll let you know when you can visit with her. It probably won't be tonight."

"I presume I shouldn't plan on her working on the conference. I'll have some scrambling to do between now and Thursday. But if she asks, tell her it's all taken care of and not to think about it. And tell her that the new speaker will not be attending after all. I don't know what her connection to him is, but I will not allow anyone who has such an effect on someone I care about onto the grounds."

Albus's eyes and voice were suddenly hard. "Whatever it is she was afraid of, she is safe here. I will guarantee it."

"All right, Albus. She will be okay. I promise. Go deal with the conference, and disinvite whoever this man is. I'll send for you as soon as she's ready to see you."

Albus gathered up the parchments from the table and strode out of the classroom.


	6. Things Done

Chapter 6: Things Done

After sending off several owls to deal with the immediate logistical changes Minerva's absence necessitated, Albus pulled his pensieve out of its cabinet and set it on his desk

After sending off several owls to deal with the immediate logistical changes Minerva's absence necessitated, Albus pulled his pensieve out of its cabinet and set it on his desk. He let his mind go back to the days of 1942 and 1943 when he had worked with several covert operatives, and tried to focus on his memories of "Rapier," a man he had only met once, but had had many indirect dealings with. He lifted the memories into the bowl and swirled them around. First he would focus on the one face to face meeting in mid-June 1943—in which he had ordered an increasingly violent and volatile "Rapier" out of the field and home to England for a recuperative leave.

He plunged his face into the bowl. He was sitting in a field tent, and the man called "Rapier" came in to meet him. As soon as Albus saw his long angular face, framed by dark black hair, and met the man's green eyes, he pulled himself out of the pensieve and slumped back in his chair.

"Rapier" was Minerva's father. He had to be. The resemblance was uncanny. Albus was surprised he had not made the connection at the time, but Minerva had been a young, innocent teenager, whom he only associated with Hogwarts, and "Rapier" a ruthless operative of few moral principles, whom he knew mainly by encrypted reports rather than face to face meetings. The one time he had met him, there in the tent, he had been focused on how to get him out of the field without the man refusing the order and becoming a totally free agent of destruction.

Never a nice man, four years of totally undercover operations as a spy, saboteur and guerilla had seemingly unhinged "Rapier" and he could no longer be relied upon to know the difference between making his point and engaging in wanton cruelty. The number of people he had killed without need, and the reports of the women he had raped, made even hardened agents blanch. The intelligence he gathered, once of top quality, was no longer of any reliability, his victims telling him only what he seemed to want to hear. Albus's superiors had decided to order the rogue agent home to England, (no, Albus corrected himself, to Scotland), hoping that several months away from the stress of constant subterfuge and danger, and time spent with his wife and child, would restore him to some sort of usefulness.

Albus had been extremely skeptical of the plan—he had seen shell-shocked and other mentally damaged veterans and did not think a few weeks in the Highlands could undo that level of damage. And by all accounts Rapier had been a mean bastard before going to war—the stress of combat had only exacerbated tendencies already there. Albus did at least extract a promise from his higher-ups that the man would be evaluated at a rehabilitation clinic associated with St Mungo's before he was allowed to go home to his family. Albus had known no details of his family at the time, but whoever they were they did not deserve to have "Rapier" returned to them in his current state.

A rehabilitation clinic associated with St Mungo's. Late June 1943. Suddenly it was Albus who was feeling ill as the pieces came together in his head.

Oh gods. He had not just been oblivious to the death of Minerva's mother. He had essentially signed her death warrant and sent her killer to her. Whether with his bare hands, his wand, or by threatening or abusing her in some way so awful that she splinched in an effort to escape, "Rapier" had killed his wife, of that Albus was suddenly sure.

Dread roiling his gut, Albus summoned Minerva's student file and the letter from the Ministry informing her Head of House of her mother's death. "Miss McGonagall will stay at her family home in Scotland for the remainder of the summer holiday. Fortunately her father, a member of the Diplomatic Service, was recently rotated home on leave, and will be in Scotland for the next two months. Expressions of sympathy may be directed to Miss McGonagall's name, in care of the Diplomatic Service office in Edinburgh."

Albus could not bring himself to imagine what those two months must have been like for Minerva. It was a miracle she had survived, and an even greater miracle that whatever psychic damage had been done had not clearly manifested itself until now.

And he was the one who had sent the man home to his family. Not the one who decided to send him home, granted, but he had been the one who had actually implemented the plan, and given him his travel documents and cover story. More than enough culpability.

Now the bastard had invited himself to a conference at Hogwarts to talk about his war exploits, a conference Minerva was coordinating. The final press releases had just gone out last week, for the first time over Minerva's name rather than his. He didn't know why "Rapier" wanted to "crash" the conference his daughter was coordinating, but there was no possible good reason.

Albus had rarely felt such fury, and certainly not since the war. It was all he could do to keep from leaving the castle that moment and seeking "Rapier" out himself. Instead he owled a message to Poppy saying he could be reached via Fawkes and hurried to the gates to apparate to his friend Oswald's flat. The next twenty-four hours kept both men busy assembling evidence and presenting it to the highest ranks in the Ministry.

By noon two days after Minerva's collapse, a team of Diplomatic Service Aurors had been dispatched to "Rapier's" last known location to make it clear that he was not welcome to attend the conference at Hogwarts. No explanation was given—simply that the Hogwarts Headmaster, whom the agent might better know under his former name of "Firebird," forbad it, and every possible security measure would be in place to ensure he did not enter the grounds then or at any other time. He was also forbidden to ever contact any member of Hogwarts staff. And his diplomatic passport was confiscated.

Albus personally strengthened and customized various perimeter wards upon his return to the castle.


	7. and Left Undone

Chapter 7: and Left Undone

When Albus returned to the castle, Poppy indicated Minerva was ready to see him in the Hospital Wing. She had technically released her the previous day, and she even had resumed teaching, though not doing any magical demonstrations. But it seemed wise that her conversation with Albus happen someplace other than either of their rooms, and where a trusted third party was nearby. Minerva's anxiety had nearly disappeared once she received Albus's handwritten message that "Rapier" would definitely not be coming to Hogwarts, but discussing the entire matter with Albus could possibly set her back.

Poppy explained that she had given Minerva an anti-anxiety potion which should prevent another attack if they ended up discussing "the situation." It would also lower her inhibitions slightly, but Minerva did seem to want to talk and Poppy thought that the more she could tell Albus, the less power her fear would have over her, and the faster her overall healing would be. If she needed another dose the bottle was on the table next to the bed.

Albus walked into the private room in the Hospital wing reserved for staff. Minerva was sitting in a chair looking out the window, and Albus pulled another chair up beside her. Her face was turned away from him.

"Albus, I'm so sorry for what I said to you. I was not…"

"Shh, shh Minerva, you don't need to apologize for anything. I understand. Poppy explained at the time what was affecting you and why you reacted to me the way you did. And then when I looked at my memories of him in my pensieve I realized who he was. I'm so so sorry, Minerva . What you have been through. And this has brought it all back. I'm so very very sorry. For everything."

She turned her chair to face him. "But how much do you know about him? What he did? Who he was?"

Albus took a deep breath. He had thought about how much he should say about his own involvement, though he still wasn't sure.

"I now know he was your father, though I didn't until two days ago. I know who he was in the war, and what he did on his missions, both what he was ordered to do and the other things, or at least enough of them to know why he was ordered out of the field. And I think I know what he did once he returned to Scotland, though I don't know the details. But I do know that he was responsible, in some way, for your mother's death."

"And I know that you had to stay with him for the rest of that summer. And I know what kind of man he was, enough to imagine to some small degree what that summer might have been like. Not that I can really imagine or understand, of course, but I have at least a theoretical idea. I am genuinely amazed that you survived, physically or emotionally."

Albus had managed to maintain his composure, but now looking at the woman he loved, who had endured so much before even graduating from school, his voice began to break. "I am so very very sorry for what you went through, Minerva."

"But it's thanks to you that I did survive."

"What do you mean? What did I have to do with it? I did not even know who your father was, or about your mother."

"You're the one who taught me what I needed to know to escape. Without what you had taught me, and the confidence you had given me, I'd have never been able to do it. And I would have died."

"Do what? You escaped? How? Where did you go?"

"Out into the fields. As a cat. I'd sneak back at night when he was passed out drunk, and get food and supplies in my human form. But I spent my days hidden in the woods or fields as a cat. He thought I'd run completely away—he'd certainly given me reason enough to after the first week—and he was too out of it to try to follow me. The first week was horrible enough, though."

"Fortunately I'd brought some _animagus_ books home with me for the summer, the ones you had mentioned in an article I'd read. I'd always wanted to learn it, ever since my first year when you demonstrated it, and then it had occurred to me that it might be useful for when I had to be around him. It wasn't just that summer that he was awful, you know. The last time he was home, on just a brief leave during my sixth year, had been almost as bad."

"I hadn't planned to actually try the transformation until I was back at Hogwarts and you could help me, but by the end of the week after Mum died I realized I literally had nothing to lose. No damage I could do to myself could possibly…."

"Shh, you don't have to tell me any more…."

Minerva took several deep breaths. "So I practiced a few of the exercises as much as I could for a few days, and then when I didn't think I could bear it any more, and didn't care if I died in the attempt, I tried the transformation. It worked. I was free. And it was thanks to you."

"No, no, my brave, talented Gryffindor. It was thanks to you. I had very little to do with it. But I am glad you told me. One week was bad enough, but I am glad to know you were spared that the rest of the summer. It helps my guilt somewhat. "

An owl flew into the ward and landed on Albus's arm. He removed the parchment, cast several spells on it, read it and gave a smile of grim satisfaction.

"What do you have to be guilty about, Albus? You gave me the way to escape then, you've stopped him from coming here now."

"But I didn't stop his handlers from sending him home on leave then. I was one of the ones he reported to, though I wasn't one of his regular handlers. But I knew what he was, though not who he was. When I learned about the leave, I tried to stop it, but not hard enough. If I'd only been more insistent…."

"If you'd been more insistent, Albus, it wouldn't have happened then, but it would have happened eventually. Believe me. He'd almost killed my mum before, and he had already been nasty to me. It was just a matter of when, not if. Don't blame yourself. Blame him, blame his parents who always protected him, from when he first got my mum pregnant when he was home from Hogwarts the summer before his seventh year, and ever after. He learned then that there weren't any consequences for treating witches like dirt, for having his way with them, and he never stopped."

"So, he, your mother…"

Now that Minerva had told him the worst of it, she seemed determined to fill in all the gaps in his knowledge of her background.

"Yes, she was a maid in his parents' house, and their darling only son raped her and got her pregnant. With me."

Albus shuddered. For someone so beautiful to have been conceived in such baseness.

"His parents at least did keep Mum on as part of their staff, and let her raise me. They could be decent enough except where he was concerned. They even convinced him once he was established at the Ministry that he should marry her and make me legitimate. They figured that a wife who was talented at domestic things would be an asset in his rise through the diplomatic corps, and I think they thought it was a good thing for us too. They had visions of him becoming an ambassador."

"But when he had his first undercover assignment, sometime in the early '30s, it became clear that he had a rare talent for covert work. Those Slytherin traits, I guess. He never worked a regular diplomatic assignment again. He spent more and more time undercover, and when the war broke out, he was rarely home at all."

"Which was just as well. His parents insisted he support us financially, and he couldn't abide that. They actually paid my Hogwarts fees, because he refused to—said no girl needed a Hogwarts education—I could go into service like my mother had. But his parents tried to do right by me, at least as much as possible without bringing him into disrepute or compromising the elaborate lengths they'd gone to cover up his misdeeds".

"He still resented us, and as he became nastier and nastier, he let it show more and more. So Hogwarts itself may have saved me, or at least my sanity, if not…... And then what I learned from you surely did save my life that summer."

"Oh, Minerva….my brave, brilliant, strong Minerva." Tears flowed down Albus's face.

Minerva reached up her hand to wipe them away. "I didn't mean to make you cry, Albus!"

"These are good tears, Minerva. Tears of thankfulness that you have survived so much, and not let it turn you into something like him, full of hate. Tears of relief because if you can talk about it, as you just have, it no longer has such power over you. And tears of joy that you have trusted me enough to tell me all of this. And that you do not blame me for my part in it, even though I blame myself."

"Believe me, Albus, I do not blame you. Even if I had known your role at the time, I would not have blamed you. He was, he is, evil, and he would have ultimately done the same amount of damage no matter the timing. Do not blame yourself. Please. And he will get his justice eventually."

"Perhaps sooner than he had thought."

"What do you mean?"

"I found out why he was going to come here. His mother died last month, and as you know his father died a few years ago. Somehow some vestigial respect for her had kept him from harassing you once you were an adult—and she had some sort of financial hold on him too. But once she died, he figured he could come here and humiliate you in some way—I don't know what he had planned, but it surely wasn't reconciliation. Among other things, you were the only person surviving who knew for certain what he'd done to your mother, which was, as far as I know, the only capital crime he'd committed on British soil. So he was certainly intending you harm of some sort."

"But what he didn't count on was that it was also only his parents' influence and machinations for all these years which had kept the Ministry from prosecuting him for the atrocities he committed during the war, and from investigating the details of your mother's death more thoroughly, and that had ensured his steady promotion even after the war. With his mother dead, he has no more protection."

"When I went to Oswald and connected the dots between "Rapier" and your mother, he went to the Minister. Who authorized that his diplomatic passport be revoked and he be tried for assorted war crimes and murder if he ever returns to British soil. Lots of people who knew what he'd done in the war had been agitating for his prosecution for years even as he rose in the Diplomatic Service; now the Minister was finally free of whatever hold his mother had over him and could oblige them.

"That owl I received a little while ago was to inform me that he is now in custody at Nurmengard, Grindelwald's prison. Apparently the Germans want first crack at him now that we've waived his diplomatic immunity. Then, if he ever gets released, which I doubt, our courts will have him."

"You're serious?"

"Yes." He handed her the parchment.

"At last, at last." Now it was Minerva's eyes which overflowed with tears. She reached out for Albus, drew him to her and buried her face on his shoulder. "My turn for happy tears," she choked out between shuddering sobs. She cried for several minutes before leaning back in her chair.

"I don't think I realized until just this moment how I've been holding my breath for fifteen years, wondering why he has never come after me, to eliminate the only witness to my mother's death, which is the only one of his crimes that he figures he doesn't have some sort of diplomatic or political protection for. He'd tried to _Obliviate_ me at the time, of course, but he was too full of anger and liquor to manage the spell. And afterwards I always practiced occlumency and avoided his eyes. But it's always been in the back of my mind that he'd finally come after me some day. That's why, when I heard he was coming to the conference, I broke."

"But now I never have to worry about him again. Ever. Thank you, Albus. Your teachings saved me from enduring more of his worst when I was a student, and now you've finally made me truly safe."

Her "happy tears" began again in earnest.

"Oh Minerva, dearest Minerva. My brave lion."

This time Albus could not prevent himself from taking her in his arms, pulling her into his lap and holding her close against his chest, carding her hair with one hand while rubbing her back with the other. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he whispered her name again and again, his lips barely grazing her ear. Her crying slowly eased, and after another moment he loosened his hold on her.

But as she drew her head back from his shoulder, she turned her chin and placed the lightest of kisses in the hollow of his collarbone, before drawing her head back and meeting his gaze. Her eyes were the darkest green he had ever seen them, and he realized her arms remained twined around his neck. She tilted his head towards hers and raised her mouth to his, and his lips parted in response, when he suddenly caught a glimpse of the half-empty bottle of anti-anxiety potion on the bedside table. He remembered what Poppy had said about it lowering inhibitions.

"Minerva, we are both utterly spent in every way. And in less than twelve hours several hundred diplomats and scholars will be in the Great Hall hoping to hear me say something intelligent."

"If this," he continued, tracing the outline of her lips with a fingertip, "is a good idea--which I do tend to believe it is--it will still be a good idea on Sunday. And I think we'll both enjoy it much more. Or, if after we've both gotten some sleep we think perhaps it's not such a good idea after all, then that's all right, too." He moved his lips to her forehead and kissed it lightly. "My dearest Minerva."

"Albus." She breathed his name against his throat, then with some clear reluctance sat back in her own chair.

"I should be going now. I've got everything basically ready, thanks to all your good planning and hard work, but I do have some final details to tend to for the morning. I hope Poppy made it clear that I am not expecting you do to one thing related to this conference? You are to teach your classes, but not pay any attention to the visitors or the conference. I will try to stop by your rooms briefly on Friday and Saturday if I can—though I don't think I'll be able to manage it at all tomorrow—I'm booked solid from 8 a.m. til midnight. By some hard taskmaster of a witch who did the schedule." He smiled at her broadly, his eyes twinkling.

"Don't worry about me. Poppy will be looking in on me, and I do have three days' back essays to mark to occupy me—I set them long essays yesterday and today so I wouldn't have to lecture or demonstrate. You don't need to look in. Just catch up on your sleep before Sunday. Because I do expect to see you on Sunday. Very well-rested. I will be, after all!"

"I shall be too. Until Sunday, then."


	8. With Our Whole Hearts

Chapter 8: With Our Whole Hearts

Albus stared at the canopy over his bed as the late-morning light played between the curtains. The conference had gone exceedingly well—in no small part due to Minerva's logistical genius—and the last participants had left the castle and Hogsmeade the previous evening. He had slept unusually late this morning, and he could honestly describe himself as quite well-rested.

He wasn't at all sure what to expect when he saw Minerva that afternoon. He knew his feelings, first revealed in that summer storm, had only grown stronger over the months of their deepening friendship. And nothing he had learned in the past week had changed them—only deepened them.

But he did not know where her feelings truly lay. On Wednesday her actions indicated that she felt as he did. But she had been emotionally exhausted. At that moment his actions ensuring "Rapier's" imprisonment had made him appear as her liberator. He himself felt deeply uncomfortable at that notion. He felt keenly the hurt his actions fifteen years previously had unwittingly enabled, and that he had been oblivious to her need at the time. But her present relief at knowing she no longer needed to fear the monster had been genuine and understandable, and it had made him appear as more than he was.

And on Wednesday she had also been under the influence of that potion. He was extremely thankful he had managed to stop his physical response where he had. The very last thing he wanted was to for Minerva to be in such a situation when she was not in full control of herself. If anything did progress between them, it needed to be at her initiative and her pace, no matter how slow. He did not know what romantic relationships, if any, she may have had after escaping the horror of her father's abuse—and he had not needed her to specify details to know what that abuse surely entailed. But he was sure her early experiences must have marked her mind and body deeply, and he must always remember that, even if he remained simply her colleague and friend.

His house-elf Quirky popped into view, carrying a breakfast tray bearing, in addition to his usual tea and toast, a Honeydukes gift bag and a rolled parchment. "Present for Headmaster Albus. Little tag says 'From Minerva. With Love.' "

The house-elf seemed to be trying very hard to suppress a smirk. "Hope Headmaster Albus has a very good day." Another "pop" and Albus was alone once again. He immediately unrolled the parchment.

_Dearest Albus,_

_I do hope you have managed to catch up on your rest. _

_You said as we parted on Wednesday that it was possible we might not think certain developments were as good an idea after further thought as they seemed to us in that moment. _

_That you behaved in just that supremely noble and considerate manner has convinced me that it was actually one of the __best__ ideas I've had in quite some time! I am hoping to explore its implications further. _

_Of course I can only speak for myself, and l can understand that your position as Headmaster, among other things, may cause you to view things differently. I hope it is not so, but I realize that is a possibility._

_In __any__ event, I have complete trust that our friendship, which I so treasure, will guide us to find the path that will be best for both of us._

_I look forward to seeing you later today. _

_With love,_

_Minerva_

Between her final sentence and her signature she had sketched a slightly whimsical Gryffindor lion.

"Yes, my love, that did take a wee bit of Gryffindor courage," Albus reflected, placing one of the orange-filled chocolates, a current favourite, in his mouth as he swung his legs out of bed and strode to his bathroom.

"Gryffindor courage is something you have always had, and to spare. But in this instance, I do believe your courage is about to be rewarded!"

-Finis-


End file.
